UNCOMFORTABLE
by Goldenleaf 1510
Summary: Adult, steamy fill-in of Michael and Fiona's first scene together in 501 "Company Man".  Because I just can't get enough of this couple. Hope you enjoy!


**Another steamy piece, this one written as a birthday gift to bcmom, and inspired by episode 501 Company Man. I take no credit for BN or its characters, only thanking it's creators for awakening the smutty writer within me. Thank you to philliesfan for being my beta. While petting a pig.  
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**UNCOMFORTABLE**

Michael Westen was decidedly NOT comfortable. His head hurt from hitting the floor, happily AFTER his shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact. (The shoulder only crunched a little.) The sharp pain in his left side was probably that same rib, barely healed, complaining again. His cock was being ground between his body and zipper by the mercilessly hard pubic bone of Fiona Glenanne.

And he loved it. Every twinge, every throbbing ache made him harder and hungrier to be buried deep inside her.

If only he could move his arms, pinned as they were by the button-less remains of his dress shirt. Torn open and pulled down by the lust-filled nymph now lying on top of him, the sleeves served no purpose but to hold his elbows firmly at his sides. He considered it an effective restraining technique, admittedly one of his favorites. Not often employed against him, he had to admit she'd caught him off his guard with it this time. He lay on his back, able only to embrace her. As she moved her mouth from his, devouring him again along his chin and neck, he held her close, his long arms engulfing her tiny torso. Sliding her body down his, she kissed her way from his neck to his bare chest (where she pinched each nipple between her teeth a little harder than absolutely necessary), and ran her tongue down his stomach, biting occasionally (hard enough to leave marks). He gasped in pain and felt the thrill of it run straight to his groin. Arms fettered by the shirt that couldn't be shed or moved, he could now only hold her head, and nothing more of her. No breasts in his hands, no nipples between his fingers. He felt her slowly unbutton his dress trousers and anticipated the joy of his rock hard cock bounding free of its confines, feeling the glide of her fingers, the warmth of her touch… and it did not happen. The cruel zipper was silent.

Instead, she stopped, and sat back up on him, rocking gently against his miserable erection, as she straddled his hips. She looked down in triumphant lust, taking in his face and body, smiling slyly at his breathless frustration.

Fiona ground against him as she moved her hands to her breasts, and caressed herself through the silken dress. He tried to reach them, but the shirt shortened his reach, and she laughed as she threw her head back and pinched her own nipples. Michael had to laugh too, loving every smooth line of her neck and chin, and dropped his hands to her knees on each side of him.

A smart operative knows when to concede defeat, to save victory for another time. Better to lose the battle and win the war. Although in a war of flat-out sexual torment, he realized he might be hopelessly outmatched. So Michael relaxed his back, took a few quick short breaths to ease the pain in his rib, and took in the vision of Fiona Glenanne as she slid her hands lightly down her body, to her hips, to the folds of her dress gathered around her legs. She pulled it up slowly, revealing her body in inches.

The first sight was her bare crotch. Waxed nearly nude, a dark landing strip of hair drew his gaze down to her open sex. No thong, no sexy underwear, no leopard print lace had been between that ass, that sweet feminine place and her clinging blue dress all evening. The thought of her gliding through the crowd at the theater, naked but for 10 ounces of draped silk, nearly made him come in his designer pants. No wonder she was already visibly wet. The entire evening had been secret foreplay for her. "Oh, you wicked, wicked woman," he tried to say, but all that came out was a mumbled moan.

Fiona's dress had risen above the flat chiseled plain of her abdomen. Her ribs were revealed one by one, as her crossed arms drew the midnight fabric higher and higher, tantalizingly revealing the lower half of the orbs of her breasts. Michael realized that he was holding his breath in wonder. His next deep breath was cut short by another jab of pain from his rib, and his cock pulsed in approval of both the pain and the pleasure of the sight of her nipples popping into view. Fiona's smiling green eyes now peered over the gathered dress, her lower face obscured as though by a veil. She paused for a moment or three longer than was necessary, knowing that the sight of her naked body, untouched and unreachable, was driving both of his heads mad.

Her near bondage by the dress vanished as she pulled it over her head, twisted her torso, and in a deft move that she'd be wise to patent, wrapped it under and over and under his knees, binding him instead. A quick twist secured it, and Michael now lay half-dressed, tied beneath Fiona, feeling as helpless as she'd intended.

Being clothed gives a captor a strong tactical advantage over an individual whose nakedness makes them vulnerable. But Fiona's nudity above Michael's prison of clothing gave her power, which she wielded now without pity. She stroked her body, rising up on her knees, her fingertips grazing her breasts, her hips, stopping between her legs. She fondled herself, explored herself, and exposed herself to his fascinated gaze. Michael was totally entranced. He forgot to even try to move his arms, to take what he could reach of her into his hands.

As he lay still, spellbound, she leaned forward over his bared chest, and offered her breasts and torso to his skin, tickling him with her nipples. Supporting herself with one hand on his heaving chest, she fondled herself intimately and raised her breasts to Michael's mouth, letting his tongue flick and adore her perky pink buds. He licked and nibbled, knowing how she liked it, and watched the goosebumps rise along her skin.

Somehow Michael remembered that he had hands, and raised them to her back, caressing her as quickly as he could, fingers spread to touch as much of her body as possible before she grabbed both of his wrists and pulled his hungry hands from her. She moved them down to his sides, and bent them back behind him. "Keep them there, Michael," she whispered. He nodded silently, and winced again at the pain in his shoulder and rib as his weight was settled on top of his hands, pinioning them at the small of his back.

With Michael helplessly (although voluntarily, they both understood) restrained, nude Fiona proceeded to fondle and scratch, pinch and taunt every inch of Michael's exposed body. His chest was thrust up toward her by the awkward angle of his arms, bent behind him. The vulnerability he felt was rare and exhilarating. To be helpless in the hands of the only person he trusted, to be powerless in the face of her nakedness, to surrender to her desire to pleasure him thrilled him, were all he could feel, all he knew. All he wanted. He closed his eyes and relished the pain and the discomfort that heightened the pleasure by contrast.

And then she freed him from his pants. Unzipped them and pulled them down just enough to expose him, proud and yearning. She lowered her mouth, blowing softly, tickling and licking the muscled man-space from his navel on down, and then bit his hipbone. She worked her way around his throbbing cock, touching it with nothing but her hair, and her chin on occasion, as she held his hands behind his back and truly tormented him. Michael arched, chin thrust to the ceiling in passionate yearning for the warmth and moisture of her mouth on him.

Far be it from Fiona Glenanne to give Michael Westen what he wanted when he wanted it. She stopped and pulled away, rose fully onto her knees, and left his body exposed and aching for contact with her. The image of him beneath her burned itself into her memory. Michael's dark hair, deliciously long on top these days, was perfectly mussed, his cobalt blue eyes locked with hers fiercely. His lips were soft and parted, yearning to be kissed and sucked and bitten red. His panting bare chest, with the shirt still confining his arms, was broad, muscled, accented by tight dark nipples and shining with sweat. Michael's hands remained secured, forgotten behind him. Between his helpless legs the beautiful manhood that she had brought to life was framed by the clothing she'd pulled away.

She could wait no longer to take from him what they needed.

With a deliberate sensuous movement, she finally grasped him, wrapping her hand around his cock as she slowly lowered herself onto him. Never looking away from each others' eyes, they became one. She leaned forward, kissed and sucked and bit those lips, rocked against him and rose up and down on him, making him feel nothing but desperation for any contact she would bless him with. The feeling of him filling her, moving inside her, pushing within her to her limit, was exquisite. He was hers, and hers alone right now. She wanted to hold him within her forever.

Michael gave himself to her completely, letting her take him into herself, an apology for the time he had taken himself away from her. She was all things painful and good, all things uncomfortable and necessary.

He finally pulled his arms free and reached for her. She melted to his chest, and their movements merged, sped, and froze as they lost themselves in the utter chaos of mutual pleasure.

They quieted and lay motionless for a moment, until Michael fidgeted against the braided rug. He could imagine a waffle pattern imprinted on his back for the next week.

"What's wrong, Michael? Are you okay?" Fiona murmured.

Smiling down at the only one who was woman enough for him, he whispered, "I'm fine, Fi. Perfectly comfortable."


End file.
